


beneath the stains of time

by kadaransmuggler



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, Mild Angst, a dalish elf tries desperately to fit into a world designed for humans, this was not as angsty as i anticipated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 08:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13120254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kadaransmuggler/pseuds/kadaransmuggler
Summary: "She has always been an elf in a human world, always somehow been wrong for whatever it is she has decided to do"





	beneath the stains of time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YuriSuzu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YuriSuzu/gifts).



> This was part of the 2017 Wintersend/Secret Santa Exchange. It was an absolute blast to work on and I adore Val Lavellan.

Val is twenty-three when she arrives at the Conclave. It is a long time to live, and yet no time at all, and it is overwhelming- like she has been thrown to the wolves. She had known, of course, that there would be more humans than she’d ever encountered before, but knowing and being prepared were two very different things. She is, first and foremost, aware that she is not the same, that everything about her brands her as something other. She is elven, she is Dalish, she is a mage- none of these things are things that would help her blend in, but she’s a stubborn thing and she refuses to let that stop her as she winds her way through the crowds, careful to keep from bumping into anyone. If any of those standing around notice the vallaslin on her face, well, they don’t say anything, and that suits her just fine. She’s too proud of who she is to be nice, anyway, so it’s a relief that she doesn’t have to be. She keeps to the edges of the crowd, listens closely for anything that might give her something to report. There are uneasy whispers surrounding the whole affair, and if she weren’t in the middle of it all, she might laugh at all these silly humans. Of course it might all go to hell when you throw mages and templars together and expect cooperation.

And then all hell breaks loose, and Val finds that the humans were not so silly after all when the world explodes in green light. She doesn’t know where she is or what has happened, but the air is oppressive and dark around her and it doesn’t look like the Temple anymore and there’s something coming and she has to _get away_ \- and then it is mercifully dark, and she sleeps.

* * *

She wakes in chains, because of course she does. She has always been an elf in a human world, always somehow been wrong for whatever it is she has decided to do. She clenches her hands into fists as green light flares from her palm. The dungeon door bursts open and two women enter the room, one of them grabbing her and demanding answers that Val can’t give. She can’t stop thinking about how all this is the result of a _punishment_ Keeper thought she needed. She knows it wasn’t supposed to be this way, knows Keeper never meant for the world to explode around Val, knows that she wasn’t ever meant to be branded with the mark on her hand, but she is and she knows she isn’t getting out of this one so easily.

The human drags her outside and the Breach looms bright above them, a gaping maw ready to swallow them whole. If she weren’t so scared, she might laugh. The magic the Keeper sent her here over might be what saves her life, saves the world, too, and Val can’t help but laugh a little at the idea of her necromancy not being so bad, after all, when it comes down to it. The Breach flares and so does the mark on her hand, pain engulfing her entire arm and bringing her to her knees. She bites back a scream, isn’t going to let the human see her like that, and she knows in that moment that it will be a very long time before she goes home.

Cassandra leads her out of the village before she cuts her bindings, and Val wonders if it is because she does not trust her. But she’s too glad the rope isn’t around her wrists anymore to mention it and she shoulders past the other woman to take the lead. She doesn’t know where she’s going but the path is straight and narrow, and besides, she’s certain the human will be all too happy to tell her if she fucks up. She moves quickly, the magic in her palm sparking occasionally, and the human tells her what happened, tries to fill in the blanks in Val’s memory.

Then the bridge breaks underneath her feet and she is tumbling to the frozen river below, hitting the ice so hard it knocks the breath out of her. Two demons start to close in before she can even summon a spell, but then the human yells, drawing their attention, and Val scrambles for the staff that fell from the bridge. It isn’t her staff, but it responds well enough to her magic, and the moment her feet is underneath her she starts casting, and not a moment too soon because one of the demons breaks away from Cassandra and heads towards her. Val’s grin is feral as she kills the thing.

Cassandra stalks towards her, sword held at the ready and pointed straight at Val’s heart. “Drop your weapon,” she orders, chest heaving from the fight.

“I’m a mage. I don’t need a weapon,” Val spits out, her hands glowing just a little, enough to remind Cassandra who she is.

“That isn’t a comfort,” the warrior growls.

“It wasn’t supposed to be,” she snarls, and then Cassandra sighs.

“Keep it, then. I should remember that you agreed to be here,” she says, and Val watches her warily for a moment before she puts the staff on her back again. She lets Cassandra take the lead for a few minutes before she pushes ahead again.

* * *

The first rift they encounter is as beautiful as it is dangerous. Val can feel the Fade swirling around her as she fights, twisting around the battlefield. It is surprisingly easy to close, and she can only hope the Breach will be just as easy.

But Val knows that the cards are stacked against her, and she isn’t too surprised when her attempt sends her into darkness for a second time.

* * *

The second time she wakes up is not nearly so awful. She is in a tiny, one-room shack, and she can hear the sounds of a village outside the walls. If she closes her eyes and pretends very hard, she might think that she is back home, lying in an aravel while the clan _lives_ around her. The reality is enough to make her heart ache when she finally forces herself beyond the door.

Haven is so very human. When Val walks through the village, stares and whispers greet her. _Herald of Andraste_ , some of them say, a reverence in their eyes that makes her want to spit. _Dalish_ , others say, fear flickering in their eyes, and this is usually followed by whispers of _rabbit_ and _knife-ear_ , everything that makes Val hate the mantle of Herald. She isn’t sure yet just what has happened, or why these people call her Herald, but already she vehemently denies anything to do with the Maker or his Bride, denies any connection to the culture the shemlen claim.

Cassandra is waiting for her in the Chantry, a building so ornately decorates even for a tiny village that it makes Val’s lip curl up in a snarl. It would seem escaping the humans and their god would be harder than she thought. “You’re the Herald,” Cassandra will tell her, her face proud and eager and so very grateful.

“I’m Dalish,” Val responds, her eyes narrowing as she steps back, crossing her arms over her chest. She wishes she had not left her staff in the shack- she does not know if the seeker will fight her on this. Cassandra’s eyes narrow as she steps back, but Leliana is there, smoothly diverting the conversation to the matter at hand. Over the next few days, an Inquisition is formed, and Val is left with glaring reminders that she is not home, that she is alone.

Later, she will find the Seeker on the training grounds. Haven is not quite so frightening anymore, even though she is still very much alone. She will think, maybe, that this whole experience will not be so bad, that the Breach above them will be sealed and Val will be able to go home, back to the Keeper even if she’s still a little pissed. It won’t be easy, of course, but Val has a strange sort of hopefulness that she can leave this human world behind before long.

“Is there no room among your gods for one more?” Cassandra will ask her, and Val will recoil from the very idea, lips curling up in a snarl. The look on her face is answer enough, and Cassandra turns away with a shake of her head.

* * *

The first thing Val does when she is allowed to return to her quarters is write a letter. She is lost and scared and she has never felt so far away from home, so far away from everything that she has ever been. The people refuse to stop calling her Herald, and the Chant follows her everywhere she goes in the village.

_Brother,_

_I don’t know if you heard about the explosion at the Conclave, but I’m alive. The shemlen want to call me the Herald of Andraste, even though I’ve told them not to. I’m not a Herald of anything, and I don’t want anything to do with their stupid shem religion. If anyone says differently, they’re lying._

_This place makes me miss home, though. The Maker and Andraste are everywhere. There’s nothing except the vallaslin on my own face to remind me of our stories. I don’t think I’ve ever been so lonely before. There’s another elf here, but he’s just as bad as the shemlen. His name is Solas, and he seems to hate the Dalish, hate us, with a unique passion. I never thought I would miss home so much. But I miss everything. I miss you, I miss Keeper, I miss the halla. Creators, I hope this is all over soon so I can go back home._

_I’ll keep you updated on everything that happens, I promise. Hope to see you soon._

_Lov_ e,

_Val_

She gets a reply back two weeks later, from a courier who looks like he’s been run ragged. She doesn’t spare the messenger a second glance as she takes the package of letters greedily, running back to her quarters. There is a letter from the Keeper, one that is entirely too formal and distant but one that reminds Val that she is still part of Lavellan, no matter how the shemlen will try to make her forget, no matter what choices she might make. _We must stand together in the face of all of this, da’len_ , the Keeper wrote, and Val knows it’s the closest thing to an apology she will get for a long time.

The second letter is from her brother, playfully teasing and moderately concerned. In the days to come she will keep both letters close to her, where she can always find them. When everything is too much, she will take them out and read them again, a fragile connection to the home she wants so desperately to return to. But the Inquisition needs her and Val isn’t a quitter, and besides, she’s tied to this by the magic in her hand, so she’ll push one even if that means she won’t get to go home for quite some time.

* * *

She can finally breathe once she gets out into the Hinterlands. It’s just her, Solas, Cassandra, and Varric out there, and she’s sleeping in a tent instead of aravel, but she’s closer to nature than she’s been since the Conclave and it reminds her just enough of home to keep her going.

* * *

Orlais is bright and noisy and all together too-much. There is a crowd still standing around the stage where the Chantry had called Val a heretic ( _I’m not a Herald!_ she’d screamed, even though Cassandra glared at her) and she is all too eager to get away from it. She is marching away, turning to look over her head to see if the rest of her party is following her, when an arrow sinks into the ground between the cobblestones at her feet. It was an impressive shot, even though she can’t see the messenger, and the arrow has a little note attached that sends her on a scavenger hunt. She’s curious now, though, so she follows along, winding through the streets of Orlais. For her trouble she gets a time and a place, and a cryptic message about how this is something the Inquisition should look into.

She shows up and almost gets a fireball to the face. She lets out a laugh as she dances across the street-turned-battlefield, flinging spells until the last man is dead. And then she can stop and take a breath and _look_ at the woman who’d helped them. She’s elven, too, definitely not Dalish but elven all the same. She seems fun, too, even though she snarls her nose up at Val’s vallaslin.

When they leave Orlais, the elf accompanies them, and Val falls into place beside her as they travel. It’s easy, she thinks, riding next to Sera, because Sera makes her laugh and she’s pretty to look at, too. Val thinks this might be the best decision she’s gotten make in a long while.

* * *

Before they leave Orlais entirely, they stop at a chateau after a messenger had flagged them down in the market earlier. The place is full of nobles that make Val want to leave, until someone is trying to intimidate her in front of everyone else, and suddenly Val wants to stay because her fists are itching for a fight. “The Inquisition is a load of pig shit,” he snarls, and Val is taken aback at the open hostility. The rest of the room is hushed, watching and waiting for her reaction. She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at the man, but before she can fire off more than one quick retort, the man is encased in ice and a woman stalks down the stairs.

Val thinks she might be able to get along with the woman, until _mages_ get brought up. Val thought that would be the last thing she would argue about with the woman, with both of them being mages themselves, but the woman supports the Circles with an ardency that makes Val recoil. _So much for common ground,_ she thinks, but she tells the woman to join the Inquisition anyway because they need all the help they can get.

* * *

It is raining on the Storm Coast, but Val doesn’t mind. It keeps her away from Haven, and there’s a mercenary group who’s asked the Inquisition to hire them. She’s a little apprehensive- what kind of mercenaries _ask_ to be hired, after all- but she’s just glad to be out of the crowded village. She’s getting used to sleeping in tents, and the craftsmen who made them did a damn good job at waterproofing them.

The mercenary commander is qunari. He towers over her, but there’s an amused smile on his face and he looks nice enough, and Val thinks they’ll get along just fine. He doesn’t seem to mind the rain on the Storm Coast either.

* * *

“Did you ever hear about the Hero of Ferelden?” Leliana asks her one day. The two of them are alone in the War Room, staring at the maps until Val wants to rip them into shreds as they go over every single move they could make with all of the agents at their disposal. She isn’t sure why she’s here, either, she’s a mage and not a strategist.

“What about him?” she asks, absentmindedly pushing the nail of her thumb into a groove on the table.

“He was Dalish, just like you. It was...not always easy for him, as an elf in a human world. But he saved the world,” she tells her. Val looks up then, a faint smile on her face.

“And you hope I’ll do the same?” she asks.

“I wanted you to know you weren’t alone. I’ve been trying to get in contact with Ciarán. Perhaps if I do he will have some advice and encouragement for you,” she says, before she turns back to the war table. Val looks back down at the maps with a smile on her face. It is satisfying, she finds, to know that she is not the first to have to walk this path.

* * *

“We go to the mages for help,” Val declares, crossing her arms over her chest and daring anyone to tell her otherwise. Cullen tries to argue, because of course he does, but Leliana and Josephine jump to Val’s defense and she’s never looked so smug before in all her life.

Val is confident in her choice until she is sent forward in time. She trusts Dorian because she has to- there is no one left for her in this world. They find Sera and Bull in the prisons, their eyes glinting red, and Val knows there is nothing they can do to help them, only hope to fix the past so this never happens.

They fight their way through the castle. Val slaughters the Venatori in her path, magic rippling around her. She hasn’t been so angry in such a long time. She hasn’t been so scared, either. She’d been cocky, before. Whatever this Elder One was, he’d been a distant and far-away threat. This made him real, made him close, Val wanted him dead. They find Leliana, too, and she matches Val’s rage. Alexis will fall, and so will Val’s friends, but Val will stumble back into her own time with Dorian at her back and fierce smile on her face.

She will declare Fiona and the rest of the Redcliffe mages free allies, her chin tilted defiantly the whole way back to Haven.

* * *

The Breach is not the thing that Val had begun to fear. It is easy, almost effortless to close it with the mages’ magic pouring through her, and the mood in Haven is celebratory as Val stands next to the quartermaster’s table. She watches the people of the village dance beneath her, laughter ringing through the night air, and she grins.

And then she sees the lights on the mountain, rushing towards Haven, and her stomach sinks as Cullen sounds the alarm.

* * *

She wakes up in the snow, shivers wracking her body as she pushes herself to her feet. Her body aches in a way that it has never ached before- she thinks she might have broken her ribs, and her arm burns where Corypheus had held her. She drifts through the tunnels, her boots slipping on the ice, and then she is out in the middle of the Blizzard, her mark flaring occasionally. For awhile she can keep up a warmth spell, and then she is out of mana and she has never been so cold before in her entire life. The snow is up to her knees and every step is a battle but Val isn’t going to die, not like this, so she keeps going.

She will find a campfire, the embers still warm, and it is not as invigorating as it should have been. She is exhausted, her eyes drooping shut, and she lost feeling in her hands and in her legs long ago. She fights through more of the snow, makes it a handful of feet before she collapses again. She can see light glowing in the distance, and she lets out a low moan. She is so close, but she can’t quite make her legs stand up beneath her.

It is the Iron Bull who finds her, calling out to her. She jolts awake, just enough to reach for him, and then he bundles her up in his arms, carrying her through the last of the journey. She can’t make herself stay awake, not anymore, but she mumbles something incoherent as she lets her head droop to his shoulder.

* * *

Val sees it first, Solas climbing up next to her a few scant seconds later. Her eyes widen as she takes in the lone fortress. It almost seems to be part of the mountains, tall and imposing against a backdrop of snow.

“Welcome to Skyhold,” Solas says, a smirk on his face as he watches Val drink in the view.

“It’s hard to believe a place like this was ever lost,” she breathes. Even from here she can feel how old the stones are, can feel the history they hold.

“It is remote,” he reminds her, and Val is too busy slipping down the mountainside to get closer.

“How did you know about it?” she asks, stopping knee-deep in the snow to look over her shoulder at him. The others have started cresting the mountain behind them, the sunlight illuminating them from behind.

“I saw it in the Fade. It is elven,” Solas answers.

When Val steps foot into the fortress, the stone resonates beneath her feet. She can feel ancient magic threaded through the masonry. She takes in a deep breath of the cold mountain air, and when Cassandra asks her to become the Inquisitor, she finds that she cannot say no.

“I’m an elf, standing for Thedas,” she says, raising the sword as the magic in the stonework settling further, like she’s finally where she needs to be.

* * *

A week after she is made Inquisitor she finds a letter from her brother waiting for her. He tells her that he is coming to Skyhold. She has never been so relieved in all her life. The night before he arrives Val would have thought she wouldn’t be able to sleep, but as Inquisitor she’s being run ragged. Josephine and Leliana have pulled the strings so that she doesn’t have any duties to attend to on the day of his arrival- it isn’t much, but it’s enough, and Val ends up oversleeping. She wakes to sunlight streaming through her window and stretches, cat-like, before she remembers what day it is and scrambles out of bed.

Later, Val will meet her brother at the steps at the foot of the mountain. He pulls her into a hug and for the first time since the Conclave she feels like she belongs. “You may be Inquisitor to them,” he breathes, a smile on his face, “but you’re still Val to me.”

She will lead him to her bedroom the moment they reach the fortress proper. Josephine stops her on the way up, tells her she’s sent a full lunch to Val’s quarters. Val grins at her in thanks before tugging her brother up the stairs- there’s a lot to catch up on, after all.

“I have something for you,” he tells her, as he shucks his pack off his back, sitting down on the bed. Val sits next to him, her legs crossed.

“Oh?” she asks, ears perked up. Her brother smiles as he pulls a paper-wrapped package out of the bag. He hands it to Val carefully, watching with a sly smile as she unwraps it. The paper falls away to reveal a robe, bright green and glimmering with enchantment.

“Is this...a Keeper’s robe?” she asks, her fingers tracing the embriodery.

“You may be the Inquisitor, but you’re Dalish, too. I thought the world needed a reminder. I thought you needed a piece of home, too,” he says. Val’s smile is bright and brilliant as she pulls him into a hug, mindful of the robe on her lap.

“Ma serannas,” she breathes. Later, she will swap out her Inquisition gear for the Keeper’s robe, and find that she stands taller when she wears it. She is Dalish, and it would not do the let the world forget it.

* * *

“It’s so elfy,” Sera says, her nose wrinkled, when she sees Val in her new robe, “but it would look nice on the floor, yeah?”

Val swallows any disappointment she feels.

“Maybe back at Skyhold,” she says, a wry grin on her face.

* * *

Josephine tells her that the negotiations will take place in the Winter Palace with a sympathetic smile. Halamshiral, Leliana tells her, like she doesn’t already know about the history ripped away from her people there. She doesn’t think it will be so easy to negotiate on stolen land, but Josephine and Leliana and even Vivienne have been giving her lessons on The Game, stupid as it is, so maybe she’ll do all right. The negotiations are months away, anyway, so she has time to learn and Val has always fancied herself a quick learner.

Later, lying in her bed with Sera, tangled in the blankets, she will admit that she is nervous. “There’s something about attending negotiations on land stolen from my people that makes me not want to go,” she says, with a wry smile, because this pitiful attempt at a joke is better than letting herself stay so raw and open.

“Don’t let it bother you. The past is in the past, yeah? So just focus on looking forward. We can do some good at these negotiations,” Sera says, giving Val the smirk she always does. Usually, Val could brush this off, but right now she wants to scream because Sera has never been so far from understanding.

She doesn’t get to respond before Sera swings her leg over her thighs, straddling her as she leans down to kiss her. It’s enough to get her out of her head for a few hours, to keep her from thinking about everything the Inquisition needs her for.

* * *

Varric tells her to find him on the battlements. Val is mytsified, but she complies, and she notices the armor of the person standing next to him before she notices anything else. She would laugh, if she weren’t so afraid Cassandra would kill him. She had received a letter days ago from the Hero of Fereldan, and now the Inquisitor was meeting the Champion.

What strange company the salvation of the world required.

* * *

Val falls into the Fade, and she can scarcely believe that she isn’t dead. She is scared until she sees the others with her, Stroud looking as grumpy as ever and Hawke looking bemused. Everyone is uneasy, even Val, especially Val, but she will forge ahead anyway because she is the Inquisitor.

She thinks it might be easy to get out until Nightmare starts to talk.

* * *

When she finally stumbles out of the Fade, Hawke is still with her but the Warden is not and Val comes face to face with the sobering reality of what it means to be the person in charge.  

* * *

“You know how it is,” Cullen says, in the war room.

“No rest for the wicked,” Val will answer, wearily, and they will continue their plans for the ball at Halamshiral, scant days after the return from Adamant.

* * *

Val looks at the formal attire Josephine has had laid out for her. The fabric is stiff and scratchy, even though the red is beautiful. Her Keeper’s robe is laid out next to it, still just as vibrant as when her brother had given it to her, despite all the battles it has seen. It is so very elven and Val contemplates for a moment about wearing it instead of the clothes Josie picked out. It would be a statement, of course, and she wouldn’t be able to hide her Dalish heritage. Perhaps it would remind the shemlen that they stand on stolen ground.

In the end, she layers on Dalish jewelry she’s managed to craft or collect. Amulets and bracelets and rings go on over the stiff red formalwear Josephine had given her, and in the end Val still looks Dalish enough that she knows the Orlesians will be uncomfortable.

She keeps her head held high as she steps through the gates to greet Gaspard, her vallaslin glinting in the starlight. Halamshiral is breathtaking, and she longs desperately for a connection to the place, to the history tying her people here, but she can’t quite feel one. It is a disappointment that will only go stronger as the night wears on.

* * *

The Temple of Mythal is breathtaking enough that Val can ignore the bickering between Solas and Morrigan. She touches the temple walls and wonders if Mythal herself had ever been here. She thinks she might ask Solas, were he not so arrogant and so argumentative.

* * *

“Mythal was not banished,” Abelas tells her, silver eyes boring into her before flicking over to glare at Morrigan, “she was murdered.”

“But, the legends-” Val begins, scarcely able to comprehend it. She brings a hand up to trace her vallaslin, the same vallaslin some of Mythal’s acolytes wear around her.

“The legends are wrong. The Dalish are wrong,” Abelas answers, his voice hard and angry.

When the time comes to drink, Val will push Morrigan aside. It is not her history to reclaim. It belongs to the Dalish.

* * *

Val is exhausted by the time they reach Skyhold, everything from the Arbor Wilds catching up with her. She’d never expected the one link to her heritage would tell her she is wrong. She can barely begin to believe any of the things she has learned but it is her duty as an elf to adapt. Part of her still wants to curl up and cry, though- for her People, for the legends that were wrong, for the new truths that she has learned.

She doesn’t, though. She stops at the base of the steps at Skyhold and takes a moment to collect herself, sinking her staff into the snow. Her Keeper’s robe is bright against the white background, and it’s enough to remind Val why she’s here, why these legends matter in the first place. When she gets to her quarters she will start writing, and she will only stop when she has revised the legends, merging what she knew with what she’s learned.

* * *

“So, call me stupid,” Sera says, humor still glinting in her eyes and the corners of her mouth curling up into a grin, “but I believe the stuff _not_ made up by dead people who failed.”

For half a heartbeat, all Val can do is stare at her, and then she straightens her spine and squares her shoulders. She catches a glimpse of herself in a mirror propped up against the wall- her cheeks are flushed red with anger, her eyes are hard and narrow, but Mythal’s vallaslin gleams gold on her cheekbones.

“Mythal is a _ruin_ full of _demons,”_ Sera finishes, looking all too satisfied with herself, like she’s proved something that Val should have known all along. It takes Val another heartbeat to remember everything she’s learned. Mythal means _justice_ and _motherhood_ and _love_ and _protection_ and equating her with demons is just as profane as calling Andraste a whore.

“Mythal has _nothing_ to do with demons,” Val hisses, and she can feel the voices from the Well stirring inside her, a history long and lost and calling to her through the ages.

“What? Inky, don’t be ridiculous. You can’t really be getting angry over this. Just tell me you’ll look ahead, yeah?” Sera asks, and she looks so hopeful that if Val were anyone else she might be able to forget what she’s asking of her.

“It’s my duty to remember,” Val replies, and Sera’s face hardens instantly.

“Fine. Tell me when we’re ready to kick Coryphshits ass, and I’ll be there. But everything else is done,” Sera says. Val nods once before she stalks out, rage simmering just beneath her skin.

* * *

“You look tense,” Bull says one day, not long after Val had broken up with Sera. They’re standing in the courtyard, and Val had been sparring, but then she’d seen Sera watching her out of the window of her room and she’d gotten angry.

“Good observation”,” she answers evenly, propping the wooden weapons against the wall and wiping the sweat from her brow.

“I’ve got an idea for some stress relief, if you’re interested,” he says, his voice dropping low and his eyebrows furrowing just so and it’s impossible to misinterpret his suggestion. Val wants to say yes, feels almost guilty until she meets Sera’s angry eyes through the glass, and realizes that she shouldn’t feel guilty at all. She’s the Inquisitor, thrown into a world that wants to chew her up and spit her out, and if she wants to have a good time with Bull, then she should.

“I might be interested,” she answers, her voice practically a purr, and Bull laughs as he pulls her closer.

“My room is closer,” he says, his voice rumbling in his chest, and then he’s leading her inside the tavern and up the steps. The pass the floor Sera is on, pass Cole hiding in a corner, and then they’re in Bull’s room and he shuts the door after them, picking Val up and pinning her against it, like she doesn’t weigh anything.

* * *

Afterwards, Val is laying bonelessly on the mattress, half-asleep. She watches Bull as gets dressed with heavy-lidded eyes. She doesn’t remember the last time she felt so relaxed.

“Good enough for you?” he asks, a grin on his face as he picks the eyepatch up from the dresser. She grins back, a long and lazy thing, and stretches, arching her back like a cat.

“Might need a few more times to be sure,” she says, and he throws his head back in laughter.

“Think I can manage that, boss,” he says with a smile.

* * *

Val spends a lot of time away from Skyhold- she has since they found it. Used to, she would always have Sera with her, especially after they started sleeping together because it was better to spend the night on the road with someone else than it was to spend it alone.

Sera stays at Skyhold a lot more now.

Bull is gone just as often as the Inquisitor.

* * *

They hear reports of a dragon in Crestwood. Bull looks at Val with a smirk, and she knows she can’t even contemplate saying no. She gathers a party and heads out, deep into the dragon’s territory. The beast is bigger than she would have expected, all teeth and claws and electricity, and each roar sends a thrill down Val’s spine.

It isn’t an easy fight and the dragon isn’t an easy target, but neither is Val, and the two of them might be matched in ferocity. Val bears her teeth in a snarl and calls spirits to her side as she sends spell after spell hurtling towards the beast, ice and fire, and when her mana starts to run low she starts to use her blood instead. In the end, the dragon is what falls. Bull strikes the final blow, and as she falls her turns to Val, hefting his sword above his head with a wide grin. The sun is setting behind him, illuminating him from behind, and Val feels her stomach flip. She will tell herself it is the dragon they just killed.

When she leaves, it is with a dragon’s tooth in her bag.

* * *

Val had never been one to drink, not like a qunari, but when Bull asked, she couldn’t bring herself to refuse. The stuff is strong, burning the back of her throat, but they get stupid-drunk until Val is slumped over the table giggling. She doesn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much.

* * *

Val’s edges start to fray more the closer they get to Corypheus. There is so much to do before they’re ready for the final push, so Val is spent all over Fereldan and all over Orlais to put out fires that only the Inquisitor can handle. Her hand hurts constantly, now, with the frequency that she closes stray rifts, and after Adamant it’s gotten harder and harder to sleep. There are many nights where she tosses and turns.

Bull starts sleeping in her tent, pulling her hair away from her face when she whines in her sleep and holding her close until the tension melts away. On the battlefield, she finds herself moving with him, something fluid, like they were meant to fight together.

Often, she will think of the dragon’s tooth she carries with her.

She doesn’t feel quite so homesick anymore.

* * *

“I’ve read up on Qunari customs,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed. Bull curls one hand around her waist, a smile on his face.

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, fingers lazily tracing patterns on her skin.

“Yeah. I’ve, uh, got something for you,” she says, and before she can lose her nerve she leans down, pulling two necklaces from her bag. The dragon tooth she had taken from Crestwood has been split in two, fashioned into matching amulets.

“I’ve...heard what this means for the Qunari. I wanted to offer it to you, so we’ll always be together, even when we aren’t,” she says, holding one out to him. There is a half second where she waits, her heart in her throat, before he takes it from her, gently slipping it over his horns so it nestles around his neck. He moves, pulling her back onto the bed and hovering over her. The dragon’s tooth slides along the sheets, her fist curling around it as he cups her face.

“Kadan,” he breathes, pressing kisses against her cheeks, her jaws, her lips.

“Kadan?” she asks, leaning into his touch.

“My heart,” he tells her, and she smiles, a soft thing.

“Vhenan,” she calls him, and he smiles against her skin, the dragon’s tooth pressing between them.

* * *

Val stands in the ruins of Haven, her staff in her hand, the dragon’s tooth dangling from her neck. The Keeper’s robes she wears flutters around her legs, and she can barely comprehend that it is over, that they have won, that the world has been saved. Corypheus’ magic ruined whatever was left of the landscape, but Corypheus himself is dead and Val is still standing (and so is everyone else, which is more than she’d let herself hope for as she went into this) and she realizes they couldn’t have asked for a better victory. She will find, later, that Solas has disappeared, but it is no great loss to her as she joins the party in the throne room, exchanging her Keeper’s robe for something more casual. It is here that she is Val Lavellan, headstrong mage, and not the Inquisitor. She finds that she can more than live with this as she picks the tiny cakes off the platters on the tables.

Later, Bull will lead her up to her quarters and press her against the windows on the balcony, laughing as he presses kisses onto her face, her neck. She will laugh, too, her fingers threading together behind his head. _We did it_ , she will whisper, and the minstrels will say that the look he gave her in response melted her heart and made her weak in the knees. The minstrels will say much about the Inquisitor and her Tal-Vashoth lover, but neither of them pay much attention to what the songs say unless they’re laughing at them. It isn’t what Val expected when she walked into the Conclave, but it is not something she would trade for anything in the world.


End file.
